“Miguel, please. I promised them.”
Reluctantly, he handed over the car keys. “Can’t you wait till things calm down? Is it safe for you to do this alone?”
“Do one thing every day that scares you. That’s what Eleanor Roosevelt told me.”
“Huh? When did she tell you that?”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “It’s a joke. But that’s what my grandmother used to say. She quoted her favorite first lady a lot.”
“Then you admit that you’re scared?” Miguel asked.
“A bit nervous, maybe, but I’m going to do it. I’m taking those children to the library. I’ll be back by noon.”
As she drove, Colleen remembered how excited Cynthia had been the day before: “Miz Rodriguez! It’s my turn tomorrow, right? My mama gave me the paper. You gonna pick me up? It’s my turn.”
It was their third Saturday monthly trip to the library and the first since everyone had been uprooted from West Hill School. Distracted by her thoughts, Colleen almost missed her turn. As she drove past her old school into the Negro neighborhood, the road narrowed until it was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. There was a runoff ditch on either side. She drove over a huge pipe. It served as the foundation of the entrance to the dirt road and funneled any water that was in the ditch. She was sure she had seen some animal, maybe an alligator, crawling into it a mile or so back. It was the road that Cynthia and Linkston lived on.
The houses were set behind huge trees with Spanish moss dripping from the branches, like curtains shielding the lives of the tenants. Life was different here for sure. She passed a house with an upholstered armchair on the porch, another with an old wringer washing machine in the corner. Most were just weathered wood, not as well tended as the Negro houses closer to town and school. She drove slowly, remembering what Cynthia had said about her house. “We just put the white paint on. It looks good!”
Colleen felt her heart pounding as she passed a man sweeping the gravel and stray twigs back to the road. He stared at her, and she realized her car had knocked some stones back into his garden. He was a big, dark man with a bald head and huge brown eyes rimmed in white.
Colleen stopped the car. Behind the man, two children ran toward her, bubbling with laughter: Cynthia and Linkston.
Colleen stepped out to greet them.
“Granddaddy,” Cynthia said. “This is our teacher.”
“Good morning, sir. I’m sorry about the gravel.” Colleen felt herself flush.
After a long pause, he limped over to meet her. “Mornin’, miss. Everyone calls me Ole Man Everett, but I’m not that old.” He squinted at her. “I graduated high school with that principal of yours, Freddy Peterson.” He studied her car. “That’s a might fancy machine you gots there. You aiming to take these youngins somewhere?”
Colleen didn’t know what to say. Cynthia saved her. “Granddaddy, she gonna take Linkston and me to the library. It’s our turn.”
Colleen introduced herself to Cynthia’s mother, who had approached from the house. The woman hesitated before shaking Colleen’s outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miz Rodriguez. I’m Chantal Everett. I see you met my father, Joseph Everett.”
Cynthia’s mother was younger than Colleen had expected. Her hair was pulled back smoothly, with a headband holding down any strays. She wore a uniform, clean and pressed, just like Cynthia’s dresses were every day.
“I’m very glad to meet you. Thank you for signing the permission for the library card for Cynthia.”
“Well, I thank you. Cynthia has been reading more than she ever did. She wasn’t interested until this year. You know, it’s her second time in 2C.”
Colleen didn’t know and didn’t want to admit it. She nodded, smiling, as she looked around for the other two children. Rachel and Jarrod were supposed to meet her here too.
“Miz Rodriguez, I have some news.” Eyes down, Cynthia’s mother nervously smoothed the pocket of her skirt. “The other children won’t be coming. Miz Woods sends her apologies, but Rachel and her cousin Jarrod have family business today.”
Colleen wondered if the family business had anything to do with Frank. The day before, Rachel had confessed that her brother had been arrested.
“But are Cynthia and Linkston able to go with me?”
The children were jumping up to peer into the car, obviously anxious to get inside.
“Yes, they can go. I have work today, but Cynthia’s granddaddy will be here when you bring them back.”
“Thank you. I’ll have them back by eleven thirty.”
As Colleen opened the passenger door and pulled the seat forward, both children scrambled into the back and fastened their seat belts. She laughed to herself. She had explained that there were seat belts just like the astronauts wore in the space shuttle to the moon. And she thought of her own reluctance to wear a seat belt because it wrinkled her miniskirt.
Why had Mrs. Woods changed her mind without notice? She had been the one parent Colleen thought she could count on and the first to sign for the library cards. The others had followed. And Cynthia’s granddaddy didn’t seem especially pleased. Because she had knocked stones back into his garden, or was it something else?
During the drive, Cynthia chattered away, commenting on everything in view.
“Miz Rodriguez, look at that there park. I never saw it before.”
Linkston broke his silence to say, “Can we go? Can we go there too?”
“Yeah. There are swings and a big slide, and no one is using it,” Cynthia added.
“I think the park is locked, children. We won’t be able to play there. You want to spend time inside the library, don’t you?”
Colleen knew the town had closed the park, put a lock on the gate so it wouldn’t have to be integrated. Evelyn told her that had happened sometime the prior year. Deny everyone so you don’t have to share, Colleen thought.
She parked in the lot next to the library. She knew from experience that there would be stares, whispers, and finger pointing at the sight of a white woman holding hands with some black kids. But Eleanor Roosevelt’s words echoed in her mind.
The head librarian, Mrs. Meriwether, sat at the main desk. The children didn’t notice the eyes piercing the air as they walked in. One glance was all Colleen needed to see that the beehive was in place, pulling back any wrinkle that dared to appear on the librarian’s face.
Colleen led Cynthia and Linkston to the Children’s Room. The young librarian with the dark brown pageboy read to a group of children seated at a table. There were some open seats, and the three of them sat down to listen to the story. One of the girls wiggled her fingers in a greeting to Cynthia and smiled at her. Another child moved her chair away from the table and made a face at the friendly girl.
When the librarian finished the book, she suggested that the children look for more by the same author on the shelf behind her. Cynthia jumped up to see. Colleen quickly followed, dragging Linkston along.
“Hi,” the young librarian said to Colleen. “I remember you. Is there something I can help your children with?”
Colleen smiled back at the woman’s twinkle-eyed face. Maybe this could work out. She explained that Cynthia loved books about dogs and Linkston preferred anything about outer space.
When the young librarian checked out the books Cynthia and Linkston had chosen, she said, “Children, please return the books in one month, either here or to your school.”
“To their school?” Colleen asked.
“They go to Kettle Creek School now, don’t they? We have a pickup directly from the school library. Just be sure to place the books in our bin. Your school librarian will help you.”
Colleen smiled. A chink in the wall.
As she drove the children home, Colleen thought about how well the trip had gone. It had been the best trip to the library that she had taken yet. Miguel had been worried for nothing.
The children flipped happily through the piles of books they held on their laps. Colleen drove them to Cynthia’s house, and Mr. Everett acknowledged their return with a smile and a wave as he started walking toward the grove of trees that separated the highway from the road.
Just as Colleen left the gravel road and entered the highway, a police car flashed its lights behind her. She couldn’t pull over to let it pass because of the ditch, but she was able to move onto a narrow shoulder a little farther down. Instead of passing her, the patrol car pulled up and parked behind her. The officer climbed out of the car and approached. His trousers were pegged, and he had on knee-high leather boots. The state troopers in New Jersey dressed like that.
Colleen frowned, uncertain what she’d done wrong.
“Morning, ma’am. License and registration, please.”
Colleen’s hands shook as she reached over to the glove box for the registration. Her purse was on the floor, and she couldn’t reach it without taking off her seat belt. As she leaned over, she felt her skirt slide up.
I can’t believe this.
Handing over her documents, she noticed that the officer’s forearm was scarred. Then she read his nameplate: Beau Harper. She saw him look at her legs as she wiggled to fix her skirt. Beau? Wasn’t that the name of the so-called best mechanic in Kettle Creek?
“So, you get around in this fancy car. Are you lost?”
“No, Officer, I’m not lost.”
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing way out here?”
Dark green aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, and she couldn’t work out his expression.
“I’m a teacher—”
He didn’t let her finish. “A teacher, now? Is that right? Last time I saw this car, you needed a hose replaced.”
So it was the mechanic. But he was a cop too?
“Officer, did I do something wrong?”
“Well, now, that depends. Why would a white woman be out driving in these parts?”
“I took some of my students to the library, and then I drove them home.”
He palmed her cards and walked to look at the front of the car.
“New Jersey—you’re far from home.” His tone challenged her. “There’s no library out here.”
Colleen felt her throat constrict. She needed air. Breathe.
“I took them to the library in Kettle Creek.”
Scrutinizing her identification, he rested his hand on his hip above his holster. She heard a creak as the leather strained across the pistol.
“No teacher of mine ever took me to the library. Are you collecting signatures or something?”
“Signatures? What for?”
He handed Colleen her license and registration.
“Little lady, you’re far from home and don’t belong down these roads. We’ve had some nonsense with some of the church ladies coming out this way with their northern people, signing up the coloreds to vote. Don’t come this way again, you hear? Or else you’ll find this is a heap of trouble you know nothing about.”
